


Liquor and Cigarettes

by Annie_Sutcliff



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Cigarettes, Drug Use, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Poetry, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, christopher poindexter, it's emotional, it's not explicitly described tho, sicheng is a dance student, yuta is a english language and literature student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_Sutcliff/pseuds/Annie_Sutcliff
Summary: Sicheng never liked the smell of cigarettesYuta never liked the smell of cheap alcohol





	Liquor and Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> The poetry work used here is NOT MINE, its all christopher poindexter amazing work, if you like it you can go check his instagram account!  
> https://www.instagram.com/christopherpoindexter/?hl=pt-br
> 
> If anyone is interested to what I was listening while writing, it was What Is Love - Jaymes Young version (it is awesome and fits really well with the vibe of the fic) https://open.spotify.com/track/6CIff9z94pPApi2i3k2lq1 so if you like to listen to music while reading, I recommend to listen to this song.
> 
> I think this is more emotional than sad, don't know if it makes sense but whatever lol. Feel free to give opinions on what you thought! My goal with this was to be able to express the feelings more than tell a story, if you know what I mean (but of course that there is a story lol. I like to write emotional things, and it's always a challenge to put complex feelings into words, mainly when it's not my first language, but that is my favourite kind of writing. I hope you like it too!

Sicheng never liked the smell of cigarettes.

When he opened the door of his bathroom and stepped in the corridor, he knew Yuta was home by the smell of his cigarettes. He walks towards him, his profile slowly showing up from behind the wall, body leaned against the couch and eyes wandering around the living room like he hasn't seem it a million times before. Yuta looks up at Sicheng when he sees him, but his expression doesn't change. There is no cigarette or ashes to be seen anywhere.

"Did you smoke here?" Sicheng asked nonchalant, walking towards the kitchen, the sweatpants setting low on his hips as cold air hits his naked torso.

"No." Yuta lied, eyes piercing the chinese man's back, enjoying the fine figure of his muscles and bones, the way they move and contract as he leans ever so slightly to reach a water bottle in the bottom of the refrigerator. Yuta knows why the students of Fine Arts always ask him to model for them; if he knew how to draw, he would want to - try to - recreate those beautiful features too. But he doesn't, so he recreates him the way he knows: with words.

"You know I don't like when you smoke at my place, don't like this habit of yours." the blond boy says, serving water to himself, Yuta only being able to see him thanks to the american kitchen design. "If you want to slowly kill yourself, do it out of my house."

" _If darkness is really not darkness at all_ ," Yuta quotes, attracting Sicheng's attention to him once again. " _but rather, the absence of light, then my flaws are not really flaws at all, but rather, the absence of you_."

For long minutes, they stare at each other, without a word. A smirk played in Yuta's lips, but soon it fades away. Sicheng gulps down his water, little by little, eyeing the japanese from over the edge of his cup, his free hand holding the edge of the counter as he leans on it, for aesthetic purposes. He knows Yuta is looking at him,  _at his body_ , and he knows Yuta is waiting for him to move, so he has to make him wait for it, _crave_  for it;  _die_  for it. That's what their relationship is made of, in the end. It's made of Yuta's crave for everything Sicheng could ever give him, of the way he loves strongly and merciless to himself, throwing his heart at Sicheng's feet and begging him to step on it, because even pain and rejection, when coming from the other, are love somehow in Yuta's eyes.

And Sicheng accept it all, because he needs to feel loved, no matter if he knows it's fake.

Because Sicheng knows Yuta doesn't love him. He loves to love, but Sicheng is just a part of what is necessary for him to feel what he feels. That's what matters for Yuta.  _To feel that he is in love_. And what matters for Sicheng is to feel like he is loved, so they accepted it, silently and greedily.

He places the cup on top of the sink, as slowly as possible. He walks towards Yuta with feline eyes, something tense on the way he step that makes Nakamoto's breath get heavier. Sicheng's presence  is full of tension, if he wanted to be honest. His side smile to the way he places his hands over Yuta's shoulder, to support himself as straddle him, every single part of his body touching the japanese's, and the way he let's his tongue slide through the other's lips; it all has tension on it.

"Don't throw your shit at me using your poetry, Yuta Hyung. Whatever you do to yourself, is your fault, not mine." There are so many meanings to Sicheng's words, and Yuta understand them all, but he doesn't think about it, as he kiss him passionately, strongly, greedily, hungrily. 

That afternoon, they have sex in the couch, then in Sicheng's shower, and bedroom. When they are over, laying naked on top of white sheets, Yuta lights up a cigarette, and Sicheng doesn't say anything.

 

Yuta never liked the smell of cheap alcohol.

When he knocked on the door of the dance practice and, even though he could listen the music slipping through the cracks, no one answered, he knew Sicheng was drinking and choreographing. Yuta opens the door slowly, the slow and bass sounds shaking his whole body as it was infiltrating itself under his skin, and sees the younger man with his eyes fixed on his own figure in the mirror, body moving fluidly.

No matter how many times Yuta saw Sicheng dancing, he would always think he looks like a work of art. Like living poetry. As if everything beautiful in the world had come together to create what he was seeing right now, the image of blonde hair glued to his forehead, long arms and legs moving in synchrony with the music like they are one and burning dark eyes with the fire of through passion. Passion which he craved to be looked at with, but knew he'd never be. But, by the end of the day, Yuta would accept any feelings Sicheng wanted to offer him.

As the younger boy didn't seem to note his presence, Yuta sits in a dark corner to watch, feeling creativity wash over him. Sicheng is his muse anyway. Sicheng is the reason he keeps writing every single day of his life, is the reason why his heart beats so fast. Sicheng is the most beautiful and amazing person Yuta has ever seen, and Sicheng is the love of his life, but he doesn't accept that, and Nakamoto is not sure if he ever will. But he had no time to take his notebook out of his bag, as the music was soon over, and Sicheng, looking extremely frustrated,  walks towards the only shelf in the room and grabs a bottle of beer and drink it almost to the end in a smooth movement. Yuta soon realizes that there are more scattered through the floor. 

Sicheng is an hypocrite and that makes Yuta laugh, catching the younger's attention.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, a hint of anger is his voice that doesn't bother Nakamoto, just make his smile wider as he gets up and walks towards him. As he gets closer, he can smell that cheap alcohol he distastes so much.

"You said I'm slowly killing myself with cigarettes, but what are  _you_ doing, drinking that amount of alcohol every other day?"

Sicheng scrunches his nose at him, like a child who heard something he really didn't want to, and drink what lasts in the bottle, letting it fall to the floor.

"It makes me more creative, and don't avoid my question."

"I just came here to see you, can't I?" 

"You can't." The blond boy answers, but he doesn't sound serious. Yuta is not sure if it is because of the glassy drunk eyes, or the almost unnoticeable drag in his voice, but soon Sicheng smirked at him, and Nakamoto could never hold back his smile. He let himself break what last of distance between their bodies and his arms easily find their way over the other's waist. Slowly, Sicheng reach up to entwine his own arms around Yuta's neck, and kiss him.

Now Yuta not only can smell perfectly what he loathes so much, but also taste it. But he doesn't say anything as Sicheng kisses him strongly and grip tight his hair.

 

Laying down on the grass and looking up to the sky, Sicheng is under the impression the starts above him are moving, like those accelerated videos of the passing night. 

He knows that's not the case, but he laughs anyway.

The shirt his wearing is thin, and he can feel very clearly the grass tickling his back and the flaws from the ground. He's mind is clouded, but Sicheng knows it sounded like a good idea to lay on the backyard of Yuta's house after their meeting for the Poetry Nights Organization - which he is still unsure why he was invited -, at 3am, when everyone already went to their houses, and stargaze. When they could barely see the stars properly. 

Still laughing, he looks to the side, and sees Yuta looking up with a serious and concentrated expression. Sicheng stops laughing until there is only a small smile planted on his face, and Yuta turns soon enough to see it. He smiles too, and reach out to teach blond hair and to slide his fingers over it, feeling bolder, much bolder than at any other time. Sicheng allow him, in a way he wouldn't allow such intimate contact in any other time.

"Is it inspiring?" the chinese man asks in a whisper, eyes gazing deep into Yuta's, searching for the stars inside them. The ones he, at this hour in the night, can admit are the prettiest he has ever seen. "Does it make you want to write something?"

Sicheng tries to repeat to himself, that he doesn't love Yuta, and Yuta doesn't really love him. He whispers in his own mind that it is all an acting they put up for their own good, their own expectations, what they want from each other. That all the beautiful love poems Yuta wrote aren't truly for Sicheng, but for the love he feels. That anyone else would fit to fill out the space of muse Yuta always wanted. Yuta just wants someone he could call  _love_ , Sicheng thinks.

Even though that hurts, Sicheng accepts it, because he knows he's not better. He knows he lets Yuta fall on his knees in front of him with his heart ripped from his chest, because he wants to have someone to love him. He wants to have love poems written about him, to have someone looking at him the way Yuta is looking right now. He doesn't want to love Yuta, he just wants to pretend that he does.

But of course, it's kind of inevitable.

And Yuta knows that.

Because he also knows Sicheng doesn't believe on how much in love with him Yuta is; he knows Sicheng doesn't keep the hand written poems he gives him, and doesn't pay attention to the way Yuta's eyes shine when around him, or the way his hands are always on the verge of shaking when he's too close to Sicheng, but can't touch. He doesn't pay attention to any of that because he doesn't want to see, and knowing that, Yuta waits patiently to the day Sicheng will want to see. His heart is at his hands, and he'll wait as much as he has to, for him.

"Yeah. It is." Yuta answers, more slowly than necessary.

"More than I am?" To unaccustomed ears, it could sound like a childish ask, a nonsense jealous question over the night sky. But Yuta knows better. He knows Sicheng too well to let it pass as less than it is. As less than it means.

He turns to his side, fingertips travelling through the other boy's face, touching his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Sicheng closes his eyes and allows himself to feel the way Yuta touches him, the way he can feel Yuta's eyes burning him as he can feel his stare even with his eyes closed. Sicheng opens his mouth a little when Yuta's fingers touch his his lips, and he gasp, widening his eyes, like he has been electrocuted, moving away from the japanese's hand.

They stare at each other, melancholy clear in Yuta's eyes, while Sicheng's breath is uneven and he seems scared.

"No, Sicheng. Nothing in this world could ever inspire me more than you. Everything I do in my life, is for you."

They move at the same time, mouths crashing together with an initial strength that soon fades away. It's slow, and passionate, and Sicheng's hands are shaking when he grips Yuta by the shirt, pulling him as close to him as possible, making Nakamoto get on top of him. Their hands wander, and Sicheng feels so out of breath he has to break the kiss and breath, while Yuta kisses his jaw and whispers sweet things against his skin. He has never done that before, because he knows that is too intimate for Sicheng. He knows the boy he loves would never allow him to do that. Until this moment. Yuta doesn't know what changed, but something broke between them, something that should have been broken a long time ago.

He doesn't see the tears forming in the corner of Sicheng's eyes, his vision is glassy and his head is spinning, but when he feels the wet on his lover's face, he kisses them away, holding his body as close to his as possible as they make love for the first time. For the first time in years, they were  _making love_.

**Author's Note:**

> well, since the beginning notes were already fool I decided to say it here. I'm looking for someone who could read my works before I post it and correct/check for any mistakes! ADHD sucks and sometimes even after I read it 5 times I don't see the spelling mistakes or grammar mistakes. So if anyone is interested leave a comment so we can talk! thank you!
> 
> Hope you liked it!


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